


Dear Younger Me

by mooseysammy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester, not wincest, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 11:17:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15948260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mooseysammy/pseuds/mooseysammy
Summary: All Dean wanted in life was someone to share the road with when his dad was dragging him around the country on hunts but he never knew it would hurt him this much in the end.





	Dear Younger Me

**Author's Note:**

> I found some books with writing prompts in them so I decided to start posting short little stories on here from there. To be exact it was 4 books with 2,296 prompts so I’m set for a while. I really don’t know how I feel about this yet….The ending is a little abrupt but it’s what I wanted I just didn’t know how to write it.

Dear younger me,  
Where do I start?  
If I could tell you everything that I have learned so far,  
Then you could be,  
One step ahead,  
Of all the painful memories still running thru my head.

Dean was never given a glamorous childhood. At the age of 9, He wasn’t able to go to baseball games or birthday parties. No, instead Dean was sitting in the front seat of his dad’s 1967 Chevy impala, watching the trees pass by as the duo were on the road again to a new town that Dean didn’t know. A new town meant a new school and a new group of kids to fit in with. Dean hated it. He hated every minute of it. Every second of it. While the others always bragged about their parents being doctors and lawyers he stayed quiet in the back of the room. What was he supposed to say? That his dad killed the things that lurk under your bed as his job? 

So Dean decided to just not fit in. To keep quiet in the back of the room. None of this mattered anyway. He would be changing schools again in a few weeks most likely anyway so why have friends that wouldn’t follow when he left? If Dean could have anything that’s what he wanted. Someone to share the lonely time on the road with him. Someone to be able to talk to that wasn’t his dad. 

So Dean created Sam, his imaginary perfect brother, to go on the trips with him. 

Sam was the perfect younger brother. He was everything that Dean had wished for.He was someone to pass the time with, someone to take care of. He was the perfect version of every friend that Dean had ever wanted in life. He taught Sam the way of life that he lived and told him everything he needed to know about hunting. Sam would smile, watching Dean and doing as he said. 

The two were happy. They were happy with each other’s company and Dean onewas happy to finally have someone to share his time with.

That is, until John Winchester caught on. 

Dean’s father was, let’s just say, not the warmest of creatures on the planet. John was serious with his job and, granted, it made him one of the best hunters there was. So when he overheard Dean talking while sitting on the motel room bed, he was more than worried. John stopped at the door, a pizza for the two of them in had, as he listened into the conversation from the other side of the closed door. Dean was mumbling something about vampires and how decapitation was the best way to kill them. The older man was concerned about who is son was talking to so patiently he waited to hear a response from the second party of the conversation, but one never came. 

John drew his pistol, kicking open the door and causing Dean to jump up from the bed but there was no one else in the room. Only his 7 year old, staring at him with wide eyes from across the room. 

“Who the hell are you talking to?” John snapped, putting his gun away and closing the door. 

“Sammy,” Dean replied, looking at the boy sitting on the bed. John couldn’t see but Dean could. John practically grabbed his son’s arm, pulling him to where he was eye level with his father. 

“Who the hell are you talking to.” He demanded again and Dean tried to look away but John’s hand moving his chin to where he was forced to look at his father didn’t help matters at all. Dean fought back tears, shaking his head a little.

“I told you, it’s Sammy,” Dean snapped, moving away from his father’s touch as tears spilled down his cheeks. He pointed to the empty spot on the bed and John was getting aggravated by the little game. 

“And what is Sammy? A ghost? A demon?” He snapped. 

“He’s my friend. I made him.”

“Grown up, Dean. We have better things to worry about in life than imaginary friends.” 

And Dean did. He grew up and Sam was left as a distant memory, replaced with guns and lore and everything that a 7 year old shouldn’t be thinking of. 

17 was a tough year for Dean. He had given up on school at this point. What was the point of it in the first place? He knew how to read and write. That’s all he needed for his job. He was going to be a hunter just like his father. John used Dean though like a hand me down. He used him for bait, used him for information. Dean saw but what could he do? Tell his father no? He knew better than to do that. 

It was May 23rd. Dean remembered the day like it was yesterday. Him and his father were researching a case in North Carolina involving the Lawson legend and a bridge that was supposedly made from the boards of the home. There had been two victims in at least a month but those would be the least of Dean’s worries. 

They were on hour 3 of the drive and Dean had started to nod off in the passenger seat, the quiet sound of Zeppelin coming from the car radio lulling him into slumber. But suddenly, his father slammed on the brakes of the impala, causing Dean to grab the dashboard to brace himself. On the edge of the road stood a boy, no older than 12 or 13. He was too far away for Dean to make out his features but he looked freezing in the cold Tennessee rain. John drew his pistol, ready to shoot if this was a trap. 

“Stay in the car.” He ordered his son, “I’m going to see what this is about.” John closed the car door, holding up his postol. His flask of holy water rested in his back pocket. “Hey buddy…” John called out, approaching the shivering boy on the side of the street. “I’m not going to hurt you, okay? What’s your name?”

The young boy looked up at the aged hunter, his wet brown hair plastered to his forehead from the rain. John knew the young boy was most likely harmless but he couldn’t be too sure. He couldn’t let Dean get hurt. Hell, Dean was all he had left of his life. Pulling out the flask of holy water, he splashed the boy once in the face and the only flinch he made was from the water hitting him square in the face. That was enough to at least convince John to bring the younger boy back to the car with him.

Dean watched from the passenger seat of the impala, his feet propped up on the dash as he looked down at the fast food wrapper crumpled up in his hand. It wasn’t until Dean looked back up and his gaze went out the windshield that he recognized the younger boy. His tossed hair, his cheeky smile. 

It was Sam.

But how? How could it be him? Dean had left him long ago like a distant memory. A memory that he was forced to forget because his father needed him to grow up.

“What had you out in the middle of nowhere?” John asked the boy as he climbed into the backseat of the impala. Dean avoided looking at him. He didn’t know what to feel really. 

“I don’t know,” Sam mumbled in response. “I don’t really know anything. I just know that I woke up on the side of the road and I didn’t know what happened.” He began to ramble off as John started up the engine and sped off down the road. 

Dean spent most of the road trip to the shitty motel room staring at the reflection of the boy in the rear view mirror. The boy who was his companion when he felt like he had no one. He didn’t dare say anything out loud about it though. John would surely kill him in a heartbeat and the younger boy didn’t deserve that. He didn’t even know why he was here in the first place, let alone that he was once Dean’s imaginary friend. 

Once the trio arrived at the motel for the night, John helped the younger boy inside while Dean unloaded the car. The tattered duffel bags held only half of the Winchester arsenal while the rest resided in the locked trunk of the Impala. While Dean loaded some bags with weapons from the trunk, he thought about the irony of the situation that was playing out in front of him. He thought about his father telling him that he needed to grow up. He thought about how John had been so quick to pull over and help the boy, yet when Dean needed something and called him, he barely answered. Dean watched as John took Sam into the room and he watched through the open curtains of the window as he began lessons on how to use the weapons that the Winchesters used to fight the unknown. He couldn’t help but feel a bit of jealousy at the whole situation and he slammed the trunk shut in anger before making his way back to the room. 

Sam was given the other bed and Dean was given the floor. John said it wouldn’t hurt him and that Sam had been through a lot. The older man insisted that Sam needed the sleep and that Dean should understand. But he didn’t. He didn’t understand how this new person could just waltz in and John accepted him like another son he always wanted but never had. Dean stared up at the ceiling, listening to the two sleep soundly in the motel beds while he tried to get comfortable and, suddenly, he was reminded yet again of his place. All he was to John was a pawn. He was a body that killed monsters. He was a tool in John Winchester’s toolbox and nothing more and Dean fought back the tears that stung his eyes at the thought as he drifted off into a light slumber on the stained carpet. 

The morning sun shined through the sheer curtains of the room and the sound of bullets and magazines being loaded into guns filled Dean’s ears as he opened his eyes. His back hurt from sleeping on the hard floor for probably the thousandth night in a row but he tried to ignore it. It was a hunt day and hunt days were Dean’s favorite. He was able to use his book smarts, even though John reminded him every day that he wasn’t book smart but Dean knew that he was, and he was able to use his street smarts for shooting and fighting. 

Sam was still with the father and son duo and it had been a year since they found the boy on the side of the road in the rain. Dean kept his secret to himself but never found himself looking at Sam the same way he did when he was younger. Sam was someone to occupy his time and now Sam was taking the only thing he had away from him, his father. 

“Dean wake up,” His father’s voice boomed as the older boy opened his eyes. “It’s almost time to leave.” 

Dean was up and dressed in record time, loading his guns on the bed and glancing over as Sam and John bonded over some lore books. Sam was a pro at researching for how young he was and while it did impress Dean, it also pissed him off to no end. The newcomer was taking the one thing away from him that he enjoyed, but Dean kept to himself like he had learned to do for the majority of his life. 

“Dean I’m going to need you to stand as look out while Sam gets some practice hunting.” John commented, not looking up from the rifle that was in his hands. Dean felt his shoulders fall in disappointment. 

“What? Dad no…,” Dean frowned, throwing the weapon down on the bed. “You always let me help on hunts,” the teenager frowned as he looked over at his aging father as well as the boy who had taken his place. Dean had to come to the realization that Sam was taking his father from him. The words stung in Dean’s mind as he thought them. In that moment he wished more than anything that he could take back all those stupid memories of when he was younger and he thought up the younger brother. He wished that he could just make Sam disappear. He wished that things would just go back to normal but Dean knew deep down that his life had never quite been normal so what would change that now? 

“Dean, don’t argue with me.” The man snapped, looking up at his son with a hateful glare. “You’re on look out today.” 

Dean couldn’t help but roll his eyes in annoyance at the thought. A look out? Seriously? Is that what he was seen as now? A God damn look out person? He hastily shoved his clothing in his duffel, throwing in some of his knives as well before storming out to the Impala. He wiped the tears away from his cheeks quickly, afraid that someone would see him crying. Dean rarely cried, let alone let anyone see it happen but he found it happening more frequently lately. He chalked it up to lack on sleep in order to avoid facing the reality that he was upset about becoming a nobody to his father. His father was the one person whom he strives to please and yet here he was, being tossed away in the garbage like a piece of clothing that was torn and tattered. 

But again, Dean climbed into the passenger seat of the Impala, evaluating his options. What if he ran away? That was always an option. But where would he go? He had no money to his name and nowhere to go. This would all be over soon. It’s like the hype of a new dog….except the new dog could read lore with ease, loved to research and outshone Dean. 

Dean gazed out the window when John started the car up, trying to ignore the man as we watched the sidewalks and buildings turn into trees and blue skies as they drove away from the hustle and bustle of the big city. Dean felt his eyes beginning to close as the feeling of exhaustion began to take over his body. His uncomfortable sleeps on motel room floors didn’t help the already tired 18 year old hunter but he forced himself to stay awake. The sound of Zeppelin playing quietly from the radio lulled him into a light sleep with dreams of memories when him and his father would laugh it up on the way to a hunt instead of worrying about a third body to take care of. 

Dean woke to the sound of the doors of the Impala opening and closing and he rubbed the sleep from his eyes before opening up the passenger side door. 

“Dean, we just need you to stay here by the car.” John ordered, tossing his son a shotgun which he caught with ease. Sam gave him a sympathetic smile and Dean felt the rage begin to grow inside of him again as he mumbled curses under his breath and leaned against the car. Sam sighed quietly to himself, deciding to approach Dean. 

“Listen I’m sorry about everything–,” The younger boy began to say but Dean cut him off. 

“Just shut up, okay? Go with Dad.” He mumbled. 

“Dean I know your dad means a lot to you…He always has.” Sam said and it caught Dean off guard. 

“How the hell would you know?” 

“You were the one who made me, weren’t you?” Sam said and Dean felt his stomach turn a little. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He lied, avoiding the eyes of the younger boy as he gazed over at the trees. 

“Yes you do. Don’t act like you don’t,” Sam frowned. “Listen, Dean, I don’t know what happened…But I know where I came from. It was you who thought me up and I’m thankful for that I don’t want to see you hurt. That’s why you should get out of here before–” He frowned and was cut off before Dean could answer as John approached the duo. 

“Ready to go, Sam?” He asked and Sam bit his lip gently and nodded, Dean looking at him curiously because of his last words. He shrugged it off though, watching as the two of them armed themselves with guns from the Impala. 

Dean yawned, leaning back against the Impala and suddenly the two were out of sight but not out of mind. Dean was lost in his thoughts. Thoughts about how Sam and his father had a bond that Dean and his father used to have, thoughts about running away. He thought about how John didn’t need him anymore and how him and Sam were creating memories where Dean and John should be creating memories.

When Dean heard the snapping of a twig behind him, he was brought out of his thoughts about the two and he turned, looking for the source of the sound only to be face to face with a nest of Vampires. 

And it wasn’t until then, staring back into the eyes of the bloodthirsty monster, that Dean realized something…

To John Winchester, lookout and bait fell under the same category….


End file.
